


What The Heart Wants

by AnyaYanko



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crush, M/M, One-Sided Relationship, Pining, Teacher-Student Relationship, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:43:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25343401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnyaYanko/pseuds/AnyaYanko
Summary: Harry treasured the chocolate frog card like the photo of a loved one. His classmates had pictures of their parents, brothers, sisters or cousins displayed proudly on their nightstands, but all he had was a second-hand trading card which he kept out of sight.He talked to him, whisper-quiet in the night, confiding all his secrets and fears. The headmaster always smiled as if he was listening. As if he really cared.‘I love you,’ Harry told him, in little more than a gasp, his fingertips kissing at the cardboard. And the old man smiled and smiled, silent and benign.
Relationships: Albus Dumbledore & Harry Potter, Albus Dumbledore/Harry Potter
Comments: 27
Kudos: 60





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another one!

He treasured the chocolate frog card like the photo of a loved one. He had none of those - _photos, or loved ones._ Everyone who might have loved him were all long gone, leaving behind no trinkets or keepsakes. The other students had photos of their parents, brothers, sisters or cousins displayed proudly on their nightstands. All he had was that second-hand trading card which he kept out of sight. 

During the day he carried it in his pocket or in the lining of his robes. Madame Malkin had kindly sewed in an extra compartment beneath his wand pocket. It was not that unusual, she assured him, for the security of wallets and purses and other precious things. During the night he slipped the card under his mattress so he could easily reach for if he woke unexpectedly. Bad dreams still troubled him from time to time, especially when he was ~~home~~ at Privet Drive. 

The card was just as good as any of the Dursley’s family photos - better, in fact, because the picture actually moved. Albus Dumbledore smiled at Harry and nodded his head as if he was really listening to what Harry was saying. The illusion was almost complete, allowing Harry to believe that he had someone there for him, even when he was entirely alone. 

He talked to it, telling it what he’d been doing, thinking and feeling. He raged about his aunt and uncle, and confided his loneliness in a way he never could to the real headmaster. He told him how unhappy he was, how utterly miserable. Then he told him he missed him and wished he would come take him away again. 

The silver-haired wizard smiled up at him kindly as if following the conversation. As if he understood all that Harry was telling him and reciprocated his feelings. His expression was always gentle, always thoughtful, kind and loving. Sometimes he sighed deeply, brows contracting, as if he was especially moved by what he was hearing. Sometimes he closed his eyes and shook his head. 

Harry touched the printed face with his fingertips, kissed it with dry lips - feeling nothing but the smooth finish of the cardboard. 

‘I love you,’ he whispered, wishing the old man could say it back. ‘I love you. I love you so much.’

**

He had saved him, you see. Turning up on his doorstep two weeks before his birthday to inform him he had a place at an exclusive boarding school hundreds of miles away. And best of all it wouldn’t even cost a penny; Admission was free.

‘What sort of school is it?’ Harry asked. 

‘It is a school of magic,’ Dumbledore replied, and the rest had unfolded as one might expect. There was an outcry from the Dursleys, screams of protest and indignation, and Dumbledore’s cold reprimands that put an end to them all. 

‘You have not done as asked of you,’ he told them. ‘You have not cared for Harry as one of your own. You have neglected him and mistreated him and kept him in the dark about his parents. I am very disappointed to have to correct the situation now. Please see to it that I never need to do so again.’

He told Harry the true story of his parents, sat on the floor of Aunt Petunia’s parlour where no one was usually allowed to go, eating the good hard candy that was displayed - for decoration only - in the expensive crystal dish on the coffee table. 

Harry was full of questions and Albus Dumbledore answered every single one, calmly and patiently, while sharing out the little pink sweets and urging him to eat.

‘You’re far too thin! Don’t you ever get the chance to eat a nice, big meal or does that large cousin of yours gobble everything up before you get a chance?’ 

Harry had laughed and shrugged shyly, not wanting to admit to his aunt’s lack of care. He had spent years lying for his guardians. Protecting them, instinctively, as every child did, even though their treatment had not been right. 

‘I should like to take you out to dinner,’ Dumbledore told him. ‘We still have a great deal to discuss and I see no reason why we should not do so over a hearty meal. Then tomorrow - if you would permit - I can escort you to Diagon Alley to purchase your school supplies. Diagon Alley is hidden from muggles so you won’t be able to find it unless someone shows you the way.’ 

‘I would love that,’ Harry replied earnestly. ‘If it’s not too much trouble.’ 

‘It’s no trouble at all. It’s why I’m here. To make sure you’re prepared to attend Hogwarts in September and to celebrate your birthday, of course. Which reminds me.’ 

He reached into his robes and pulled out two large colourful parcels which ought not to have been able to fit in there. 

‘This first parcel technically already belongs to you,’ he said, handing it over. ‘It was your father’s. It seems only fitting that I should now return it to its rightful owner.’ 

Harry unwrapped the invisibility cloak and listened to the headmaster’s explanation as to how it worked. It was the most marvellous present he had ever received and his mind was instantly filled with all sort of tricks he could play on Dudley. At the very least, it would allow him to disappear on will and escape from his family. 

The second present was a large collection of stories entitled _The_ _Tales of Beedle The Bard_ bound in a beautiful leather cover and accompanied by many colour illustrations. 

‘I thought these might amuse you,’ Albus said smiling. ‘They are fairytales that have been told by wizards for many generations. There are few children in our world who do not know them, but I daresay they shall all be new to you.’ 

‘Everything is new to me,’ Harry said. 

**

They ate together in a fancy London restaurant. The sort of place Uncle Vernon might take Aunt Petunia on their anniversary, but only if Grunnings had had a good year. Then Dumbledore took Harry to the Leaky Cauldron and rented a room for the night. Harry was so excited he kept Albus talking for hours and they didn’t go to bed until it was very late indeed, and even then Harry lay away unable to get to sleep. 

He looked across the room at where Dumbledore lay. Watched him breathe steadily, his moustache quivering, long silver hair trailing over the pillow and down the bed, like a cursed princess in a fairytale. Harry wanted to crawl in beside him and curl up about around him like a dog. He had never felt so much affection for another human being, or so much need and longing. His insides ached with a queer hunger, even though his stomach was full to bursting.

**

Albus bought everything for Harry, without comment or complaint. At first, he showed Harry to the wizard bank and helped to withdraw his money for him, but he kept on spending, even when all Harry’s gold was gone. There was no end to the gifts.

Harry was the perfect recipient, gasping with delight at every fresh parcel, with a ‘thank you, thank you, thank you!’ He was not insincere. He had never been so grateful. Soon, he was walking around Diagon Alley with his arms weighed down with books and clothes and every kind of trinket. The headmaster even bought him his very own owl, which Harry immediately named Albus. 

‘A terrible name for a bird!’ Dumbledore exclaimed, his face creasing up with pleasure. ‘Albus The Owl!’ 

‘I like it,’ Harry said, with shining-eyed devotion. ‘It’s a beautiful name.’ 

‘What if the poor creature gets confused? When you send him to me? Surely, you will be writing me lots of letters.’ 

Harry knew he was just teasing. The witch in the store had already explained how marvellously clever their owls were. They always found their way. 

‘I will write to you every single day,’ Harry insisted and he clung to Dumbledore’s robes. ‘Do I have to go back to the Dursley’s today? Can’t I stay here, with you, until school starts.

He saw Dumbledore hesitate, moved by pity. ‘No,’ he said eventually. ‘I am so sorry. I have much to do before the start of term. But - ‘ he took Harry’s hand. ‘You can come see me whenever you want at Hogwarts. My door will always be open to you.’

***

Harry washed his face and brushed his teeth before each visit to the headmaster’s office so that his skin was clean and his breath was fresh. He also spent ages trying to make his hair lie flat - to no avail. His hair was always wild and unkempt, no matter what he tried, but at least the rest of him was neat. He met Dumbledore with a shining smile and finely-clipped nails.

He talked to Dumbledore about everything he could think about. Homework, of course, and all his classes. Quidditch, his friends and the books he was reading. He read books just to have something to discuss with Dumbledore. He’d never been a big reader before, but now he was devouring two novels a week, forcing his way through every great work of literature.

Dumbledore was always kind and attentive. He chatted with Harry easily, and brought out little plates of biscuits. He shared many things with Harry - favourite books, songs and games - and Harry lapped it all up, like a thirsty dog. 

He did everything he could to prolong those meetings, asking Dumbledore follow-up questions, begging him for re-match after re-match at chess. Inevitably though, the clock always struck eight and the Headmaster would say, ‘Well now, look how late it’s grown. You best be off to bed.’ 

And Harry was forced to return to the Gryffindor common room.   
  
***

Before he had come to school he had nursed a hope of distinguishing himself somehow, of proving himself to Dumbledore. He had read every one of his textbooks, cover to cover, and wrote out pages of notes on the back of _scraps_ \- printouts from Grunnings Drills that Uncle Vernon allowed him to use in lieu of fresh paper. He fantasied about being the smartest student in his year. Receiving awards and prizes. Then Dumbledore would smile at him, proudly, and tell him how well he’d done. 

That dream - stupid and childish from the beginning - had died the moment he met Hermione Granger. With her fantastic ability to memorise facts she was the obvious candidate for brainiest student. Harry didn’t make second place. He didn’t even make third. 

He soon discovered there were dozens of kids smarter than him. Boys and girls who remembered facts easily, grasped complicated concepts, and had a natural intuition for magic. He, however, struggled with many things. At times he felt very dense. 

The only thing he was really good at was Quidditch. For a moment, his heart had soared at the thought of Dumbledore watching him from the stands, cheering him on with the rest of the school. His head was in the clouds, literally and figuratively. Then, he learned that Albus Dumbledore did not much care for sports and rarely attended matches. 

So the one true talent he had was worthless. 

He continued to search, over the years, for something else to make the headmaster take notice of him. He was a hero, of course. Constantly under attack by Lord Voldemort and his supporters, but that was not about him really.

He wanted to earn a real place in Dumbledore’s heart. Not just to be considered because he was important, not just cared for out of pity. He wanted to be worthy. 

**

He happened upon a conversation in hushed voices in where the headmaster’s name was mentioned and stopped to listen. Lee Jordan was snickering saying, ‘No, not with Lockhart. Can you imagine him getting it on with someone like Flitwick though?’ Which set all the other boys laughing. 

‘What are you talking about?’ Harry asked.

The boys became cagey, like when a prefect butted in unexpectedly. Apparently they thought Harry was about to tell them off. 

‘What?’ Harry demanded. ‘Is it some sort of joke?’

‘We’re just trying to imagine which of the teachers might be sleeping together,’ Fred said, at last. ‘You know, in secret. I think Filtch is having an affair with Madame Pierce - ‘

‘Never!’ George interrupted. ‘Filtch is married to his cat! And Madame Pierce would never have him. She’s too good for him! Anyone who walks on two legs is!’

‘But they both like things neat and clean!’ Mickey Cuthrope squeaked. ‘Not to mention, quiet. Can’t you just picture them meeting in secret in the library stacks, after hours.’

‘ - And Lee, here,’ Fred continued, ignoring Mickey and George’s contribution, ‘thinks Dumbledore might be having a fling with Professor Flitwick.’ 

‘Not a fling,’ Lee said urgently. ‘More of an “arrangement.” You know, they’re both lonely old men. It makes sense that they would help each other out.’

‘Flitwick’s not gay though,’ George complained. ‘You know he’s not because he told us that story about the witch he loved when he was younger. Lockhart, on the other hand, probably swings both ways. You’ve seen the way he dresses.’

‘Wait,’ Harry said, furrowing his brow. ‘Are you saying Dumbledore’s - ‘

‘Queer?’ Fred finished. ‘Yeah.’

‘How do you know?’

Fred shrugged. ‘Everyone knows, don’t they? He’s always been pretty out there.’ 

‘I can’t picture him actually “doing it” though,’ said George. ‘He’s so old and so dignified. Can you really see him pulling up his robes and bumming Flitwick in the charms classroom? Flitwick squealing away - “Oh my! Oh Fiddlesticks!”’

The boys lapsed into hysterics. 

‘No, no - Flitwick‘d be doing the bumming!’ Lee gasped, tears in his eyes. ‘Imagine him, perched on top wiggling away.’

‘Don’t, I’m gonna be sick!’

Harry did not laugh. There was a strange, squirming in his stomach and pounding in his chest. He retreated to the dormitory where the squirming subsided, but the pounding continued. He lay still on his bed, in the dark room, while his mind and heart raced. 

**

Harry had known the words “queer” and “gay” for as long as he could remember. It was what little boys called each other when they were acting stupid and girly. As a skinny, speccy little boy in over-sized clothes Harry would have been destined to be the school outcast even if Dudley wasn’t the ringleader of the bullies. As it was, he got called every name under the sun, and “gay” felt like just another adjective to describe his weirdness. 

He never really thought about what the word actually meant. 

Then, one day, he saw a gay couple out on a date, kissing and cuddling in public. They were out on a day trip to London. Uncle Vernon needed to attend an important business meeting and Mrs Figgs was unwell. The meeting ran late so Uncle Vernon took the whole family out to dinner. Harry was only allowed to drink water and order one course, while Dudley had a starter, two sides and a desert, but all in all it was a nice treat for him. 

The gay couple were sat one table over and for a long time Harry just thought they were two friends. The Dursleys didn’t notice them either. Vernon was going over his business meeting in excruitiating detail and Petunia and Dudley were acting the adoring audience. Then one of the men leant in for a kiss.

Not an actual full-blown snog. Just a little closed mouth kiss. They continued pecking at each other, in between quiet giggles and intimate conversation. Dudley noticed too. He stared at the two men for several minutes, his mouth hanging open and gravy dribbling from his lips. Aunt Petunia’s mouth went very tight and Uncle Vernon started to frown. 

‘Those two men were kissing!’ Dudley declared as soon as they left the restaraunt. ‘Did you see them? They were kissing and touching each other.’ 

‘Disgusting display,’ Vernon grunted. ‘In front of children, too. We give these people all these goddamn rights. The least they could do is keep it in the bedroom.’ 

Harry said nothing. In the car, he turned his face to the window and wondered what it would be like to have a boyfriend. 

He had long ago given up on ever being loved like that by a man. His father was dead and Uncle Vernon was a cold and distant man. If he ever got married then he could be loved by a woman, hugged and kissed and spoken to sweetly, but never a man. 

Except - if that was what being “gay” really was, then it was possible after all. He could be loved by a man. He could be kissed and touched like that. Loved in all the ways his father never could. 

**

Learning that Dumbledore was gay was a similar revelation. It unlocked fresh possibilities in Harry’s mind. If only he could make the old man want him - _sleep_ with him - then he would get all the rest too. All the little touches. All the tenderness. All the love. 

It was all quite simple. The only problem was, Harry had no idea how to go about seducing someone. He supposed the first step was to be desirable. In all the films and sitcoms that Dudley watched the love interest simply walked around being beautiful and the hero took notice. 

Harry dedicated himself to self-improvement. He went running for two hours every day. He did push-ups and sit-ups and lifted weights until his arms grew strong and his chest toned. His team-mates thought it was all training for Quidditch - and Harry _was_ playing better - but his real goal was quite different. 

He bought skin and hair care potions from Diagon Alley to make himself sleek and smooth and spotless. He bought new clothes, socks and underwear and, finally made an appointment at St Mungo’s to have his eyes adjusted. With his glasses gone and his hair swept back he looked quite different.

He knew it was working because girls started to stare at him in the hallways and follow him wherever he went. At quidditch matches the stands were filled with girls screaming his name and holding up banners with his face on. Several girls slipped passed notes during class or waited to speak to him, after dinner, but he turned down everyone who asked him out. 

He only had eyes for one person. No one else would do. 

**

Dumbledore smiled at him affectionately, complimented his clothes and teased him about his admirers, but nothing more. Harry wondered how else he could get the headmaster’s attention. What was he supposed to do to show he wanted sex? 

Initiating contact seemed safe and simple. He began to stand closer to Dumbledore, to touch his hand and take his arm. He looked into his eyes and smiled as he stroked his robes, trying to put as much into the gesture as he possibly could. 

Dumbledore smiled back and reciprocated in kind. Little touches and caresses. A hand on his back, fingers raking through his hair. All loving - all _wonderful_ , but self-contained. None of these acts led anywhere. They were just friendly pets and pats. 

If Harry wanted more he’d have to push things further. He’d have to be bold. 

He waited for a convenient opening,.When Dumbledore said, ‘I know it’s been very hard for you lately, dealing with the Ministry,’ Harry was eager to respond, ‘Oh, I don’t mind really. You know I’ll always be on your side.’

Dumbledore’s eyes grew misty, as though he might be about to cry. ‘You are so good, Harry. So kind and loyal.’ 

Harry got up from his seat and went to kneel at Dumbledore’s feet. He looked up at him with devotion and slowly - _very_ _slowly_ \- put one hand on his knee. 

‘You know, I would do anything for you, Albus. Anything.’ 

Dumbledore’s expression changed. Harry saw shock, fear and confusion all pass by in a flash, before the old man’s features became hard and firm. Gently he pushed Harry’s hand away. 

‘That is quite unnecessary.’ 

Then he stood up and glanced up at the clock, even though it was only half-past-seven. ‘Ah, it’s getting late and I have so much to do tonight. Would you excuse me, Harry?’ 

The door was already open and Dumbledore was steering him out. 

**

Harry spent most of the next day in a haze, wondering how to repair the situation. He worried that if he tried to go visit the headmaster he might turn him away and refuse to see him. Nothing on earth could be worse than that.

In the end though, Dumbledore came to him, interrupting his charms class and pulling him out. 

‘Where are we going?’ Harry asked, heart-pounding with excitement as the headmaster escorted him through the school. ‘Where are you taking me?’

‘To the hospital wing,’ Dumbledore replied. ‘I’ve scheduled you a check-up. We better hurry now, Madame Pomfrey will be waiting.’ 

Bewildered, Harry followed Dumbledore into to the clean, white hospital wing. It was empty, apart from Madame Pomfrey, who asked Harry to lie down on one of the beds. 

‘I’m going to need you to put you to sleep for a few minutes so I can do a full check-up. The headmaster is concerned that you might have sustained some sort of internal injury at some point.’

She gave Harry a sleeping potion and Harry drifted off into a natural, dreamless sleep. When he woke, Professor Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey were talking in hushed voices. Harry watched them from behind the curtain, certain they were discussing him. 

‘I couldn’t find anything at all,’ Madame Pomfrey was saying, ‘although these things don’t always leave marks. You’ll need to employ legimency to be absolutely sure, Albus.’ 

‘I know. I just thought I’d ask you to look him over first, Poppy.’ 

‘What made you suspect in the first place?’ 

‘Oh, the usual signs. Over-affectionate. Needy.’ He sighed. ‘I am always glad to find myself mistaken. I shall have to speak to him though, at the very least.’ 

‘Of course, Albus. Shall I - ?’ 

‘If you could.’ 

Madame Pomfrey disappeared in a clicking of heels. Professor Dumbledore drew back the curtain. 

‘Ah, Harry. You’re awake already.’

‘Yes.’ 

‘Well, you’ll be glad to hear you’re completely healthy. No untreated injuries.’

‘I know.’ Harry stared at him. ‘What exactly were you looking for?’

Dumbledore took the chair beside the bed, his expression solemn.

‘Harry, I was very concerned by your behaviour the other night. It is not usual for young boys to be so familiar with their teachers, unless they have some experience in that area. I have to ask - have you ever had any sort of ... sexual interaction with an older man before?’

Harry was astounded. ‘No, never. I’m - I’m a virgin.’ 

‘I‘m not just talking about sex itself,’ Dumbledore pressed. ‘I’m talking about any sort of touching, kissing or suggestive comments.’

‘I’ve never done anything!’ Harry insisted. ‘Why are you asking me this?’

Dumbledore let out a breath. ‘I was worried that someone close to you might have taken advantage. I know your aunt and uncle have never treated you well. I was afraid that their abuse could have taken a physical turn.’

Harry gazed at Dumbledore in disbelief. ‘You thought my uncle was **_molesting_** me?’ 

Dumbledore nodded sadly. ‘It is not unheard of. Children always want to protect their family, even if they know what is happening is wrong.’

Harry almost laughed. ‘My uncle never touched me. He hates me. They both do. You know that.’ 

‘And your cousin?’

‘No. No one has ever touched me like that.’ He sat up in the bed, hunching over his knees. He realised that Dumbledore thought he must be really messed up inside to have behaved as he had done. 

‘I’m sorry, Harry,’ Dumbledore said softly. ‘I had to make sure.’ 

Harry forced a smile. ‘Haven’t any of your students ever made a pass at you before?’

Dumbledore smiled back. ‘No, I must confess they have not. I am no Gilderoy Lockheart. I was never handsome enough to be the subject of classroom crushes, even when I was a much younger man. Now, I am exceptionally old and ugly. You must forgive me for being surprised by your advances. I cannot imagine what motivated you. Unless it was some sort of bet?’ 

‘It wasn’t.’ 

‘Then ... ?’ 

Harry laughed nervously. ‘You really can’t imagine? You’re amazing!’

‘Well, perhaps,’ Dumbledore said. ‘I am a great wizard; Powerful and famous. Admired by many, respected and liked. _But_ I am not attractive.’

Harry looked down at his hands, twisted in the bedsheets. ‘I can’t explain my feelings.’

‘No, of course not. Forgive me. However, I must make it clear that I cannot reciprocate. I am far too old for you Harry, and even if I wasn’t, teachers cannot engage in romantic relationships with students.’

Harry nodded, swallowing back his objections. He did not mind that Dumbledore was old. He would not be a student forever. Dumbledore read his mind.

‘Focus on finding someone your own age. There are so many wonderful people out there. I am sure you will find someone to make you truly happy.’ 

Harry said nothing. 

Later, he considered the possibility for the first time in years. Imagined what it might be like with someone else. Someone new he hadn’t met yet. Boy or girl. There were plenty of fish in the sea. He could look for someone like Dumbledore.

Except, there was no one like Dumbledore. 

**

Their meetings slowly dwindled from once or twice a week to once a month, and then once a term. At first, Harry didn’t realise that Dumbledore was pushing him away. The headmaster did not cut off contact completely and always appeared happy to see him. When they did spend time together it was just as it had been, with long conversations about books and chess matches. 

He believed Dumbledore when he told him he was busy. It was only when he was turned away again and again, for the third and forth time in a row, that he realised. The lie became plain in the face of mounting evidence. 

His heart cracked like glass and small shards stabbed at his chest and stomach. Slithers of pain that he could not extract, even with magic. 

Dumbledore was cutting back their time together, pruning their relationship into a shape more conventional. And he was doing it with ease. It did not hurt him, it seemed, to deny Harry admittance. He did not miss him when he was gone. 

Harry tried to fight it at first, turning up evening after evening with thin excuses, but that only made things worse. Dumbledore changed his password and pretended to be out of his office. No matter how long Harry waited he never emerged. Eventually someone else would find him there and send him off to bed. 

‘Whatever deadly plot you think you’ve uncovered now can wait until morning!’ Professor McGonagall would quip. Not realising that Harry craved the Headmaster’s company for its own sake. Never guessing that his heart was breaking for the loss of him. 

**

He resigned himself to the situation. When he and Dumbledore had to meet to discuss Voldemort they did so with calm restraint. They did not talk about anything else. They did not share biscuits. They did not play games. 

Sometimes when they were exploring Voldemort’s memories they forgot themselves and chatted away animatedly, wrapped up in the mystery of it all. They talked for hours, analysing the smallest details and making plans for further investigation.

Harry hated those times most of all because there was always a moment when the clock struck and the spell was broken, like in a fairytale. 

‘Oh, dear, Harry. I’ve been keeping you talking far too long. You must away to your dormitory. We shall meet again soon.’

And Harry would be forced to pull back his chair and walk away, thinking of how little he’d been given when Dumbledore had so much to give. Like a starving dog thrown old bones by a mean, indifferent butcher. 

Sometimes he hated him for that. Gazed at him from the other side of the desk and burned with hate. Longed for revenge. Wanted him to hurt. Wanted him to hurt so badly.

Except, he didn’t really. He didn’t want to punish Dumbledore. Didn’t want to torture him. He just wanted him to feel the same way that he did. The headmaster had no trouble with the separation. He didn’t mind in the loss. He was unscathed.

Only Harry suffered with the pain of unrequited love. 

**

He was not surprised when he emerged from the pensieve and saw the Headmaster standing there. It made sense that he should have be here now the truth had been revealed. To wrap things up, so to speak.

‘Snape showed me everything,’ he said. ‘In his memories. You knew he would, didn’t you?’

He felt a pang of pity for his old potions master. He’d been Dumbledore’s puppet all along. Right up until his death, and beyond. 

‘I guessed,’ Dumbledore replied softly. ‘I did not know.’ 

Harry’s lip curled. ‘It’s what you planned.’ 

Dumbledore’s face crumbled. ‘Not what I wanted. Hope for the best, plan for the worst. I had to do something.’ 

He looked so old and weak, with his heavy wrinkles and slumped shoulders. Harry had never seen the frailty before, only the power. 

‘Severus was very dear to me. A good man. A good friend.’ 

‘You have no friends,’ Harry scoffed.

He recalled the way that Dumbledore had spoken about Nicholas Flamel. “Nicholas and I have had a little talk ... “ As if it were a calm, rational discussion and they had reached the decision together. When, in fact, Dumbledore must have forced Flamel to sacrifice himself, as he done so many others. 

Harry gazed into Dumbledore’s eyes. Those perfect blue irises, as pale as the sky on a clear winter’s day. Anger, Fear, Resentment and Love wrestled like a pit of vipers in his stomach. Love won out eventually and Harry stepped forward with his arms outstretched. 

Dumbledore shied alway, like a skittish pony.

‘Even now?’ Harry croaked. ‘You won’t comfort me, even as I’m about to die?!’

‘Harry - ‘

‘No.’ Harry shook his head. His arms fell to his sides. ‘It doesn’t matter.’ 

What could Dumbledore really do for him in this moment? Even if he dragged him up to bed and made love to him it wouldn’t make any difference. It wouldn’t _mean_ anything. Harry didn’t want to spend his last moments being rolled around, poked and prodded and pawed at. 

He had never cared about the sex. That was just a means to an end. It was the love he wanted. And the love would only grow in time, nurtured by repeated lovemaking and careful touching. It had to be grown and cultivated like a flower in a garden. 

And Harry had no time for that. Even if his partner had been open and willing it would have taken time, and Dumbledore was cold and closed. Utterly disinterested. 

‘Don’t worry,’ he said, in a shaking voice. ‘I’ll still do it.’ He raised his eyes again in a final reproach. ‘I told you once before. I’d do anything for you.’ 

There were tears in the old man’s eyes now, though he stood his ground. ‘Not just for me,’ he whispered. ‘For all of them.’ 

Harry thought of his two best friends, their families and all the people who lived and loved at Hogwarts. He nodded, his head a weighty pendulum. 

‘For all of them,’ he said wearily. ‘I’ll do it for all of them.’ Another step. Cautious. ‘Will you at least walk with me?’

Such a simple request. Dumbledore could not refuse. He took Harry’s hand and squeezed. 

‘I will be with you until the end. I promise, you won’t be alone.’ 

A small comfort, but enough. Harry had grown up with only small comforts to get him through the dark times. He knew how to make them last. 

**

He did not speak to the headmaster when he left Hogwarts. They had not said a word to each other since the night in the forest, although Dumbledore had held Harry’s body and kissed his face when he had thought him dead. He had called his name again and again and Harry had not responded, thinking it was better to be loved as a dead man than scorned as a living one.

Sure enough, when he did take a breath the old man’s hands kept back as if they were on fire and he did not touch him again. Not as they battled side-by-side and not as they stride through Hogwarts as everyone clapped and cheered them, heroes returning triumphant. 

He saw him from his window, a dark silhouette in the glass, watching as he always had done, from a distance. He stared back at him for a long time before turning away and heading down to the station for the very last time. 

It seemed strange to think, nestled into the Hogwarts Express, that the man who watched him from the window was the same one who had plucked him from his Aunt and Uncle’s house, taking out for dinner and shopping. The same one who had told him he would always be there for him, talked with him for hours and played round after round of chess. 

Perhaps he should have gone up to him. A heartfelt goodbye would not be unexpected. A hug, even, as delivered to a son from his father. 

But no, all that was over with now because one evening he had placed a hand on the headmaster’s knee, and changed the rules forever. It had become an all or nothing game and Dumbledore had instantly folded. 

‘What will you do now?’ Ron asked him. Their futures were long and bright with possibility. ‘Will you still become an Auror, d’you think.’ 

Harry settled his head against the window. ‘Why not?’

The train started up with a great puff of smoke and clanging of gears. Harry removed the chocolate frog card from his pocket and threw it out the window. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By popular demand, A Happy Ending.

He swore he’d never to return to Hogwarts. Threw himself into his work. Became a man of duty. Made excuses when the reunions came around. Let his friends go without him. 

Then he suffered a terrible injury: A curse that took two fingers from his left hand. The healers managed to stop the curse spreading, but there had been too much damage to grow back the missing flesh.

His friends and colleagues suggested that he take early retirement. Getting cursed really badly and surviving was a clear sign that it was time to leave. 

‘You know what they say,’ Ron remarked gravelly. ‘Aurors have a limited lifespan. Ten years, twenty at the very most. Then they either die or retire. You’ve got to chuck it in, Harry before you end up like Mad-Eye Moody.’ 

Harry agreed. He knew he was lucky to be leaving with most of his limbs intact. His sweet mother’s eyes still in his skull. 

The stars aligned and an advert for a new Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher appeared in The Prophet. For the first time in fifteen years, the position was available again. Harry stared at it, over his breakfast, and thought, _maybe_. 

_Why not?_

**

The years had not left their mark on Dumbledore as they had on Harry. Perhaps he had a fresh line or two decorating his face. It hardly made a difference, though. His robes bore a pattern of autumn leaves; perfect for the season. 

‘I was very pleased to receive your letter. I thought you’d given up on teaching.’ 

‘I did,’ Harry replied, ‘but given my recent injury,’ he indicated his afflicted hand. ‘I decided it was time to leave Law Enforcement. Teaching is the only other profession I seriously considered and I think I would be good at it.’ 

‘You could have taken a desk job or moved to a different department,’ Dumbledore pointed out. ‘The Ministry can be very accommodating, when they want to be.’

‘I prefer clean breaks.’ 

‘Yes, I know, ’ Dumbledore sighed. ‘You haven’t been back here since graduation. Not even for the ten year anniversary.’

‘I know.’ Harry said. He was not about to apologise. ‘It was too hard for me.’

‘I understand. I just want to make sure you’ll be happy if you come back now. Comfortable.’ He spread his arms wide. ‘Please don’t misunderstand me. I would be delighted to have you here.’ 

‘You would?’ 

‘Of course.’ Dumbledore’s wrinkles deepened. ‘I have missed you, Harry. We were such good friends once. I would be grateful if you we could be again.’

‘I never wanted to stop being friends.’

‘No,’ Dumbledore conceded. ‘That was my failing. I felt that boundaries had to be maintained. I was wrong. Please, forgive me.’

It was such a brisk, formal apology. So insufficient for what Harry had gone through. And yet, Harry appreciated it anyway.

‘Thank you.’ He said. ‘I would like to come home, if you’ll let me.’ 

**

He looked at himself in the mirror for the first time in years. His face had gained a couple of fresh scars and a fine beard. His hair had been left to its own devices; wild and overgrown like an abandoned garden. Still, he had not lost his good looks. If anything, he’d gained character. Become handsome rather than pretty. 

He no longer looked like a boy, soft with puppy fat. He looked like what he was: a man, shaped by adversity. 

An old spark lit up the dark pit of his soul. _Maybe_ , he thought, _just maybe._ It could happen now he was no longer a student. Now he was a man unburdened by destiny. 

Some dreams never died, just went into hibernation. 

**

They stayed up late, talking and drinking. Harry talked about his classes and Dumbledore gave him advice from his many years of teaching. They had so much still to share, Harry realised. So many stories left to tell. 

Harry was not so forward as he had been as a teenager. He did nothing more than hold Dumbledore’s gaze for a second too long and smile tenderly at him. He had been told that flirtation should nothing more than a tempting invitation and put that notion into practice.

 _I’m here, if you want me_ , he said with his eyes. _All you have to do is ask._ No pressure. When push came to shove most people shoved back. Dumbledore would rebuff him, if he thought he had to. He needed to feel comfortable. 

He was afraid. Harry saw that now. As frightened and uncertain as a child. Harry had to reassure him, show him that it was alright. They were safe with each other. Two earnest, trustworthy adults. 

‘This has been so nice,’ he said draining the dregs from his goblet. Oak-matured mead, Dumbledore’s favourite. ‘I wish I could stay longer ... ‘ A suggestive pause. ‘But it’s getting late, isn’t it?’

He saw Dumbledore hesitate. Harry was tempting him; Only shame held him back. He leant across the desk just a little more, skated his fingertips across the polished wood. 

‘I could stay with you if you want,’ he said. ‘It is such a long way back to my room. If you liked, I could happily stay with you.’ 

Dumbledore met his eyes. ‘Where would I put you?’ He mused, teasingly. A promising response. 

‘I would not want any fuss,’ Harry said with a grin. ‘I’ll happily share your bed with you. I’m sure there’s room enough for two.’

A flicker in the old man’s eyes. Doubt. ‘And ... you would be like that?’

‘Of course.’ Harry leant in, reaching across the desk with his good hand, fingers splayed out wide in an invitation to touch. ‘I’ve always wanted you, Albus. You know that.’ 

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. ‘Still?’ 

‘You haven’t changed.’

Dumbledore looked down at his lined hands, flexed his fingers and rubbed his nobly knuckles. 

‘I have nothing in particular to offer you, besides good conversation. Wouldn’t prefer a young, handsome lover? If men are your preference.’ He frowned at Harry. ‘I have never been quite sure. You are something of an enigma.’

His bright blue eyes searched Harry’s face for clues. 

‘If it were not for your rather bizarre infatuation with me I would have assumed you were ... well, asexual. You have never shown any interest in anyone else.’ 

_Asexual_? Harry had never heard the word before. He brushed it aside carelessly as something of limited interest. ‘I’m picky.’ He said. ‘I know what I want, Albus. I won’t accept anything less.’ 

Dumbledore looked torn. Flattered, perhaps, but disbelieving. As if this could all be some sort of trick or practical joke. After a long moment he took Harry’s hand. The flesh beneath Harry’s fingers was warm and pliant, like well-worked dough. 

‘Aren’t you curious?’ He needled. ‘It would be ... quite an adventure. You and I, together ...’ His fingers stroked and stroked, over the old man’s wrists and right up his sleeves. 

A blush - heady and pink and undeniable - spread across Dumbledore’s cheeks. ‘Oh Harry, I would not want to ... I don’t know. Between us, it is so complicated.’ 

‘It can be simple.’

He was afraid of going too far. Raw in his mind was the memory of Dumbledore recoiling from his touch, and the ensuing coldness. He did not think that would happen now, now that they were colleagues on an equal footing, but he could not be sure. 

‘You know what I want.’ 

He withdrew with a smile, making as if to leave. He moved slowly, heart pounding, terrified that his bluff would lose him everything. His hand was on the door when Dumbledore called out - 

‘Wait, don’t go!’

The sweetest words that Harry had ever heard.

**

Harry had no experience with men, or with women, for that matter, but he was no shrinking virgin. He had practiced, by himself. A master in theory, learning all there was to learn from books. 

In Knockturn alley there were several shops that sold spell books for sex. Texts that advised their reader of charms to clean themselves out, to make them wet and tight, the flesh vibrating to the touch. Harry tested out each of the spells he found, inserting things into his body and thrusting them back and forth with grim determination. 

He wanted to be ready, if the time ever came, for Dumbledore. He would not leave anything to chance. He had to be good. Make the man want to keep him forever. It was not enough just to be young and handsome. He had to make absolutely sure that he was worthy. 

He shed his clothes eagerly, when they were finally alone, exposing his prefect body to the headmaster. He felt a thrill as the old man admired him, a tingle down his spine as the bright blue eyes swept over him. He was being valued and his price was high. 

When he was younger, he had imagined lying down on his back and waiting for Albus to take him. It was his favourite - his _only_ fantasy. Now, he took the lead, climbing on top of Dumbledore and wrapping his legs around him. The lights dimmed and Dumbledore’s silk robes slid away, like water over marble. 

There was no rush. Harry moved slow, kissing and touching and stroking, delighted when each little gesture was returned and when the old man breathed in his ear - _Oh, Harry!_ \- the arousal plain in his voice. Harry took him inside him and moved lithely, riding Dumbledore like a stallion, panting in little bursts. He watched him shudder and groan. 

A strange shiver started worked its way through him. A tingling unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. His face began to burn. He had not expected to enjoy it. Not really. That had never been the point. But, when Dumbledore jerked and gasped, warmth spread through his loins and something rose inside him in answer. 

He came. Hard. Almost toppled over, pressing the flats of his palm to the mattress, sweat sticking him in place. They uncoupled and crawled into place beside each other. They caught their breath and settled down. Then - _then_ \- the moment that Harry had been waiting for all these years. Albus reached for him and Harry cuddled into them. 

‘I love you,’ he whispered. 

Not merely a confession, but a question. One that had to be answered. He had not meant to say it. It had just slipped out, beyond his control. Now, he waited again, holding his breath. Dumbledore’s fingers moved through his hair. 

‘I love you too,’ he whispered. ‘I love you so much, Harry. So very, very much.’ 

It was all he’d ever wanted. 

**

After that, they rarely had sex. Harry had always expected that there would be a lot of sex to keep them close and allow them to grow closer. Making love, in the literal and figurative sense. But after the first time, night after night went by without more than a kiss and a cuddle. Harry didn’t mind. He didn’t even notice until Albus brought it up, several weeks later. 

‘I’m sorry I’ve been working so late,’ he said. ‘I’ve always stayed up late, working. I could try and cut back if you want, though.’ 

‘It’s alright,’ Harry replied. ‘I have marking to do too, and I like to read before bed. As long as we still go to bed together that’s fine.’

The headmaster hesitated. ‘Yes, but ... well, I don’t want you to feel ... neglected. I’m not a young man. I don’t have the stamina or the appetite I used to, but I want you to be happy. I want you to be satisfied.’

Harry caught his meaning. ‘Oh!’ He laughed. ‘No, that’s fine. I don’t - I haven’t got a wild appetite or anything, myself.’ 

‘You’re young, though,’ Albus said doubtfully. ‘Tell me, honestly. If you had the choice, how often would you like to make love? Honestly. What’s your ideal amount.’ 

Harry considered the question. _None_ , was his immediate, most honest response. Quickly followed by, _As often as you want_. He didn’t say that, though. After a moment, he suggested, ‘Once a month ... maybe. If you could manage it.’ 

Albus smirked. ‘Oh, I think I could manage that.’

‘Less though, if you prefer,’ Harry said urgently. ‘Or more. I really don’t mind. Sex has never been important to me. I enjoy it, really I do, it’s just ... not important.’ 

He didn’t know quite how to articulate his feelings. He hardly knew them himself. All he knew was that he wanted Dumbledore to love him. Love him forever. He wanted him in his bed, every night. Close enough to touch and whisper to. Flesh to flesh, breath mingling in the air. 

True intimacy. 

**

‘Do you think I’m strange?’ He asked, lips soft against the old man’s ear. 

‘Oh, most definitely,’ Albus said lightly. ‘You couldn’t desire someone like me unless you had very strange tastes.’ 

Their fingers knit together. 

‘Not that I’m complaining.’ A chuckle. ‘And there’s nothing wrong with being unusual. People say I’m strange.’ 

‘People say you’re crazy.’ Harry corrected. 

‘Crazy brilliant.’

‘Crazy _and_ brilliant.’ 

‘And that’s why you love me.’ 

Harry laughed. ‘Partly, yes.’ 

He untangled their hands and walked his fingers up and down Albus’s arm, slipping inside his sleeves. 

‘I love you because you’re so ... good and kind and loving.’ He kissed at his cheek. ‘You’re the only one who can love me the way I want. You’re the only one who can love enough.’

It was the most honest he’d ever been about his feelings. Always afraid of giving too much away. Of alienating the serene, conscientious headmaster. He might be supremely loving, but he also liked structure and distance. Holding everyone at arm’s length had kept him safe for over a century. 

‘I hope so,’ Albus said. ‘I will certainly try. I need to make sure I’m worthy of you.’ 

_Full circle,_ Harry thought. And it felt good. Right. He relaxed into the warm sheets and the smell of soap and cotton and sweet pea flowers. 

I’m home, he thought sleepily. I’m home, at last. 

‘You’re perfect, he told the headmaster. ‘Perfect for me. Just ... keep me. Never stop loving me. Never let me go.’

Gnarled fingers threaded through his hair; a tapestry of hair and flesh. 

‘Never,’ he agreed. A deep, shuddering breath. ‘I’ll love you as long as I’m alive, and live as long as I can to love you.’ 

Such a perfect, beautiful promise. 

‘Thank you. Thank you.’ 

**

Could there have ever been anyone else? Perhaps, if Harry hadn’t been so stubborn, and so devoted. That was how he loved though, with his whole, entire being. Once he had made his choice, there was no going back. 

If Albus Dumbledore had not been so kind to him, had not taken his hand and looked right into him with those bright blue eyes, then perhaps he would have searched for someone else. A substitute for a mother, with a sweet smile and a devoted heart. A brother-like lover who made him laugh and held him tight, tight, tight in bed. 

He had never seen anyone else though. Never been looking, of course. But ... the world was small and soul-mates did not exist. Harry could have just as easily spent a lifetime alone. Almost did, when Dumbledore rejected him. His friends and his work were enough to sustain him. Between a half-hearted affair and a lonely life, he’d always choose solitude. It was all or nothing in Harry’s heart. 

Some deep, unfathomable instinct drove him to extremes. It told him, in the dark depths of his soul, _You need love, love, love. An all-consuming, everlasting love. Anything else ... will hurt, hurt, hurt._ He was afraid of abandonment, of rejection, of the hands that pulled away and the face that turned. 

It was all the Dursleys fault, he was sure. They had made him what he was today. Blessed with kindness and humility, cursed with desire, fear and insecurity. He had grown into something strange and unique. The perfect saviour; A devoted lover. 

**

There were rumours about them. Harry knew the students whispered behind their hands, told dirty jokes, drew pornographic doodles. The teachers too, had their suspicions. They all knew how close Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore were. How they talked, for hours in his office, laughing at jokes that no one else understood. How they draped arms around each other, for comfort, whenever things got dark. Friends, yes. Companions. And, maybe ... something like lovers? 

Most people shied away from the idea. Unless, they one of Albus’s enemies. Then, they wallowed in the insinuation as if it were something dirty, something shameful. Something to discredit the benevolent old man. _Not as pure as he pretended to be._ They didn’t really care. The outrage was all manufactured. What did it matter if an eccentric old man bedded an ex-student?

Harry let people talk, never confirming or denying. Their relationship might seem unconventional, but really it was quite simple. A warm, pleasant intimacy of hours spent together, sharing in all life’s adventures. And they’d had a lot of adventures. 

Harry was happy. He had all he’d ever wanted. His heart’s desire. 

_His one, true love_


End file.
